The Diary, the Den, and the Daughter of a Demon Hunter
by Kintaraheart
Summary: Left with only her journal to guide him, a blood elf reads through his daughter's final year of life as a concubine in the Black Temple in a search for answers about his newborn, half night elf grandchild and the fate of his daughter. Rating may go up.
1. Prologue

**Hello, welcome to my latest plot bunny. By latest I mean this was started six months ago lol. It just came back to me and I found the will to act on it. This story will mostly be told through journal entries and small moments of reflection by the man reading the journal- until the end, when we jump forward ten years in time.**

 **As always, I own absolutely nothing but my own characters, the rest belongs to Blizzard Entertainment.**

 **I hope you enjoy this story, leave a review and let me know what you think :)**

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Mist poured over the fraying walls of Shattrath and into the Lower City, gathering in the tunnels where the vagrants hung about. It drifted through the cracked stone streets thickened with vines and weeds, shrouding the marketplace that had yet to open for today and silhouetting the tents and various thrown-together structures that littered the ghetto.

The city was still sleeping, recovering from a vivacious revelry in celebration of the fall of the Betrayer. The Black Temple was no more, already being reclaimed by the Draenei and Broken who were eager to restore such a holy place and to cleanse it of all the atrocities committed on upon its stones. The people of Shattrath had danced and sung and drank for three days and nights, music ringing out from the the World's End Tavern and the marketplace alive with celebratory foods saved for only the rarest of occasions- the fall of Illidan being more than worthy of such delicacies.

But now the time for festivities was coming to a close. Yesterday the tavern's songs had grown more solemn and the markets were filled with a sea of hushed conversations as the people of the Lower City began to mourn. So much and so many had been lost in the preceding decades. The demons' hold might have been greatly lessened in this last attempt to cut the fingers from the proverbial _beast_ that was the Legion, but this decimated world still continued to die and with it went its citizens. There would be a time of relief that followed Illidan's death, but the battle had yet to end. Kael'thas was still lurking somewhere as Kil'jaeden's puppet and the Twisting Nether and all its darkness continued to fold in around them all.

Sitting perched atop a stone slab jutting from the damp earth sat a small elven woman. She was shrouded beneath layer upon layer of silks from head to toe that obscured even her face and were woven into the braid that was slung over her shoulder. All that could be seen were her eyes, green jewels in the fog. Sheltered in her arms she held a child, equally as bundled and hidden away as she, that fussed quietly as it sucked on the woman's bony fingers. The woman hummed quietly to the baby, longing for it to remain as silent as this Shattrath morning, and hoped that her wait would be over soon.

It was. From the mist came another elf and then another, the pair much more plain than she, but still dressed in mana-silk all the same. They came to a stop before her as she slid down from the stone slab and grimaced as mud soiled her slippers. To them she held out the bundled baby. The elderly woman took the child and held it to her breast, sheltering it further from the cold of the morning, just as she had once done for her own daughter many years past. To the man, the young elf gave a book, a journal of thick, black leather with golden thread embroidered into the spine. He, too, held this precious thing to his chest before depositing it into inner pockets of his robes.

The elderly couple then turned their attention to the child, unwrapping the silk that shrouded it's face from view. Pale skin tinged with the slightest hint of lilac and hair the color of midnight itself greeted their startled eyes. The child was so young that her ears were still folded and had yet to harden, but it was plain to see that they were already longer than one of the man's fingers. But it was when the baby's eyes opened that they were truly startled. Rather than the green or silver that they'd been expecting, they were met with amber.

The man looked up at the silk-shrouded youngling who stood before them impatiently. "She is mixed?" He asked.

The young woman nodded and shrugged. "I thought it was known that there were as many Kaldorei among the Illidari as Sin'dorei." She replied sharply. "Does her heritage bother you? If she does not meet your standards you can simply deposit her at the orphanage. It is but a small walk from here."

At this the older woman held the baby even closer to her chest and glared affrontedly at the brazen youngling before them. The man, too, was shaken by her comment and stepped between the two women. "Never, and you would watch your tongue before your elders!" He hissed. "This child, mixed or not, is my granddaughter and I intend to make sure she that has the life she deserves. One spent _away_ from this place."

Beneath her scarves and silks the woman was grinning at him. "Rest your worries." She said dismissively. "I was only checking to make sure that she will not be abused by you because of prejudice. Surely you cannot fault me for that."

Both of the elderly elves softened a bit at her words and the man apologized softly for his outburst. A moment of silence passed between all four elves as the mist began to clear. Recognizing that their time was short, the woman of the pair finally spoke.

"Do you know who the father is?" She asked as she stroked the baby's dark hair.

This time the young elf seemed to deflate at the question. "No…" She admitted. "She would not tell me." She looked away from the pair before her and sighed. "There may yet be hope for your question, though. The answer may be within her journal. I could never open it myself to find out because of the enchantment, but the two of you should have no trouble."

The man retrieved the journal from the pocket of his robes. "Which enchantment does it bear?" He asked as he flipped it over in his hands, inspecting the embroidery further.

"A blood enchantment. Only those who she shares blood with may open it." She watched as the man tested this out and successfully opened to the first page. Relief, jealousy, and bittersweet sadness filled her as she watched his joyful expression at his success. The sound of voices cut through the emotion in the air. Hoof steps could be heard against the ruined stones and the silhouette of two Draenei materialized through the mist.

The woman grew tense as the pair of Draenei drew closer. "I should go before I am discovered…" She murmured as she pulled a hearthstone from inside a silk pouch at her hip. She looked the two elderly elves, the parents of her fallen best friend, in the eye one last time. "Good luck to you…" It was all she could bring herself to say before she activated the stone and disappeared within seconds.

Both elves stared at the emptiness that replaced her for a few moments before turning to one another and then the baby in the woman's arms. She was fussing again and blinked up at them as she rubbed her own face with her tiny, balled fist, trying desperately to put her fingers in her mouth. The woman could not resist her smile or her tears. The man took his wife and granddaughter and hugged them both between him. "We should go as well." He whispered. His wife, shaking with the tears of grief, nodded and mirrored the actions of the younger woman who had just departed by pulling a hearthstone from the pouch at her own hip. She closed her eyes as she activated it and felt her husband draw her and the baby closer. When she next opened her eyes they were standing in the middle of their parlor.

The three of them stayed bundled together for a while longer, unsure of what to do next. Finally, the baby's cry broke the silence in their quiet house and her life with them began.

It was late before the baby was finally at rest, asleep in the bassinet in the corner of their room. After having lost so much in just a few short years, neither of them felt comfortable putting the week old baby in a nursery alone. Once she was older things would change, as was the nature of life, and they would move her into the room that had once housed yet another girl many years ago, but for now she would stay with them.

They had yet to name her, wondering if perhaps she already had a name hidden away in the pages of their daughter's journal. So much promise lay in the little black book that accompanied their granddaughter. Answers, they hoped, to the burning questions that haunted them every time they looked at the sweet baby.

Sitting beside his wife in their own bed, the man stared down at the book in his hands. His fingers clutched the leather so tightly, so nervous he was at opening this book. Anticipation ran through him quicker than a hawkstrider, but there was an edge of reluctance in the tips of his fingers that had him grinding his teeth. The last year of his daughter's life was inscribed into these weathered pages. Her tears, her hardships, her thoughts and feelings and every little thing about her that he'd missed so much since her departure. He wasn't sure he'd be able to handle the task of reading through her reflections and picking through the last of her days, knowing that when he reached the last page, he would be forced to come to terms with the fact that it was all truly _over_.

Unable to bear the anticipation any longer, while also certain that if he waited another moment he wouldn't be able to go forward, he opened to the first page.


	2. Chapter One

**Hello again. We've opened the journal itself and now we see what is written within.**

 **Enjoy.**

 **As always I don't own any part of the Warcraft universe.**

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 _This book belongs to Ahrani Cinderstar, bound to her soul._

 _May only the hands of those who share her blood grace the pages that follow._

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 _May 17th, year 25._

They say that this is the promised land, but all I see is another ruined world. The sky here is black with ash and green with felfire, as is everything else. Even the stones I stand upon now are black and cold. I cannot see what our prince sees in this place, cannot find anything that even hints at familiarity, I could never call this place my home. Yet here we are, here I am, and now we have no choice.

The demon hunter, Lord Illidan, says that there is only forward, that you can look upon your past and take your pain and forge a future. Even if I feel nothing but disappointment at this place, I know that his words hold truth. I know that my place is here, blazing a new trail for my people. This is why I stand among Kaldorei and take the advice of a half-demon. I want to make a difference, as insignificant as I am. If the invasion taught me anything, it showed how powerless we really are. I could do nothing while my friends were murdered but hide. I never want to be so helpless again.

As if I have a choice, anyway. The portals, however few were made, closed many weeks ago when we first arrived. It was either follow or wither away from our addiction in Quel'thalas and do nothing. I took the only choice and now I must deal with the consequences, I must learn to survive. Whatever _survival_ entails in Outland.

We must all survive, those of us that remain. It is strange to be surrounded by your kin, but to know only a few of them. There is Jaelad, the alchemist's son, and his wife Tyvonia. Farstrider Nareth. Lero and Merhen Runegaze. Vehona Evershield, the merchant from Fairbreeze. Of all of us, those are the only faces I recognize.

Even stranger is the bond I feel with all the others despite never having met them before now. I have made more friends in the last few weeks than I ever did in Quel'thalas, even during childhood. I can honestly call these elves my brothers and sisters. We are comrades and shield siblings now as we await our training to become demon hunters and blood knights. Between the Lady Liadrin and Lord Illidan, perhaps there is hope for us.

 _..._

 _June 1st, year 25._

It is hard to believe that the Black Temple was once a place of the Light. That the Draenei used to pray on the very stones where we now slay demons for practice sometimes disturbs me, particularly on the days and nights when you can hear their spirits weeping from just outside the temple walls. Perhaps it is only my old faith showing its face after being silent for so long after the invasion. After watching so many people die, shown no mercy as they pleaded with the Light to save them, I grew so disenchanted. I feel as though my eyes were opened to the truth that you cannot rely on someone or something else to save you, you must save yourself. My eyes are still open, even despite my faith trying to rear its ugly head. I will not be blinded.

We train hard here at the temple with hardly a moment's rest. None of us have undergone the final test or the transformation that mark the birth of a new demon hunter. The only demon hunters besides Lord Illidan are those that came long before us. Kaldorei who accompanied him here or answered his call after slaying demons for centuries during the Long Vigil make up a majority of the higher ranked Illidari. The few Sin'dorei who have completed the transformation are those who came here with Prince Kael'thas, brought here by Lady Vashj from the prisons in Dalaran.

We are anxious to see who among us new recruits will pass the test and withstand the transformation. Our teachers warn us that the trials ahead are not for the faint of heart and that many will break under the pressure and even more may die. I have heard that the true challenge lies in the transformation itself, however, and that many who attempt to withstand it fail and perish. I worry that I will not be strong enough. I am not like some of the others here who were guards or seasoned soldiers for many decades before coming here. Though there are some like me who are new to the soldier's life, there are many more who are experienced.

I am afraid of losing to them and even more afraid of failing altogether, but that's how it is for all of us. We're all afraid here and Lord Illidan says that we must conquer that fear before we can advance any further. It's holding us back and keeping us from truly throwing ourselves into this. Demon hunters must know no fear and have faith only in themselves. I have a lot of work to do in ridding myself of my fear and doubt.

At least I have my comrades. We all have a lot of training to do and so we do it together, as we do everything together. We eat, sleep, and train together. Some even share beds, although I worry that seeking such relationships will distract them from their training. Or maybe I'm wrong, maybe it will remind them of their purpose and drive, of why they're here, if they've someone to care about. It certainly seems different when they share beds than the nights when they just go to the Den. It goes deeper than stress relief and pleasure, at least it seems to... I think.

I'm just glad for my friends. Jaelad has grown much quicker in training than some of the others, especially for someone with little combat experience. Tyvonia has also made drastic advances in her training as a priestess. Farstrider Nareth has climbed the ranks the quickest, though, as I expected he would. Lero and Merhen, while much quieter than they used to be, are still proving to be the playful brothers I remember. Their occasional banter reminds me of home, of the warm breezes in Eversong and everyone I miss.

 _They_ are why I am here, the fallen. I must remember them always. Still, I won't limit myself to the dead and only the dead. I have met new people here. There is Selmaen, one of our trainers who has proven to be among the more sociable elves in the fully fledged ranks of the Illidari. He tells fantastic stories during our downtime that help to bring my mind away from the gloom of the temple and Shadowmoon. Kayn Sunfury is another trainer of ours. He has shown great devotion while also expressing care for his comrades. Though a bit of a preacher when it comes to his ideals, I cannot fault him for believing as strongly as he does. He never loses sight of why he is here, forever steadfast. I admire that in him.

One of the blood knight trainees, a man named Anriem, stands out the most to me. Somehow, throughout everything he has retained a warmth to him that I seldom see here. Everything has a tendency to feel so cold or lifeless here. I should hope he doesn't wither away in this place.

I have not seen Vehona Evershield in some time. She departed for Tempest Keep under the orders of Lady Liadrin and I haven't seen or heard from her since. I hope she is doing well… In a place like this, only the strongest will survive. As mortals we are so fragile, I wish upon her the strength she needs to live.

 _..._

 _June 5th, year 25._

Today there was a transformation, the first of which I've ever seen- and hopefully not the last. Yet another one of the Kaldorei, Asha Ravensong, earned her place among the true Illidari. It was nothing like I could have ever imagined. Her eyes were burned from her skull in a stream of felfire that poured from her very being. It flowed through her and she fought to control it- and won.

But all is not final. It took a drastic toll on her. Just moments after she sacrificed her eyes, horns began to bud from her skull, splitting the skin as they grew. She was shaking on the floor in the minutes afterwards, her fellow Illidari surrounding her and urging her to her feet. The rest of her physical transformation will take place over the next few days and she was sent to rest right away. I have seen the effects of the transformation on the experienced Illidari and what the fel can do. She may have scales when all this is through, claws or maybe hooves, perhaps even the rare tail. We shall see what her horns are like as well and I am very curious.

Her mental transformation will be the true test. She may have conquered the initial power of the fel, but a demon now grows within her and the others say that it will take everything she has in these first few days not to succumb to the corruption that will try its hardest to eat away at her.

Watching Asha's transformation has stirred the doubt within me again. I had been full of so much excitement and anticipation when it came to her transformation, but after witnessing it, I am more unsure than ever that I will have what it takes. It is only fear, though, and fear can be overcome. I must fight my fear as Asha fights her inner demon.

I have confided in Anriem my fears. I won't risk planting seeds of doubt in the other Illidari trainees, about themselves and their strength or about me and my own. So I turn to him. He assures me that I will make it through this, that I have what it takes and that I will only grow stronger and stronger. I trust him and I want to believe him, yet still I am afraid…

I hope that he is right.

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A cool breeze blew in from the open window, ruffling the curtains and causing the flame of the enchanted candle on the nightstand to flicker wildly. Deep shadows danced across the room and the man sighed as he set the book down on his lap for a moment. He watched the dancing shadows, set out like a play for him alone to view. He imagined that they were acting out the scene of the Kaldorei girl's transformation, hectic and wild and as afraid as his daughter, flitting from wall to wall in their uncertainty.

Suddenly the wind slammed the shutters of the window closed and though the flame settled, it was not without a final shiver as the air around it stilled at last. From the bassinet, the baby began to cry in fear, startled from her sleep by the sound and the man rushed to calm her, leaving the book momentarily discarded as he rocked her in his arms and smoothed the dark hair from her face.

From where he held her, he eyed the book and could not shake the unsettling feeling that it was as if the wind knew what was to come.


	3. Chapter Two

**Hey there. I've actually had this chapter done for a while, I just forgot to post it.**

 **Things take a rather terrible turn in this chapter. You'll see.**

 **Enjoy and as with before, I don't own any part of the Warcraft universe.**

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 **Reviews:**

 **Ihsan997: Wise is the wind... Not to say that I'm glad you were sad, but rather I'm glad that line had the intended effect.**

 **MelanaAdara: Thanks so much! It's great to see what people like what I write. I hope you'll like this chapter and the future chapters as much as the first two. :)**

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 _June 7th, year 25_

Tomorrow we will be sent out on our first training mission. We are being sent alongside our teachers to clear out an old Draenei ruin in the southwestern part of Shadowmoon. Lord Illidan seeks to turn it into a staging ground for some of the demons who have defected from the Legion. It will be an honor to accompany our trainers on such an important task and a good chance to show them what we've learned. We have been told that the area is crawling with lesser demons and I look forward to testing my skills against them.

This task will be one more step toward our transformations and the final test, whatever that may be. The nature of the final test itself has been kept hidden to us so far. Only those about to embark upon it are given any details and even then I've heard that they still aren't told much.

I itch to prove myself, but for now I must prepare. We will be bringing little with us on this journey but our blades, but I must rest before we set out. We will be traveling on foot and the path to the ruins will be as demon-infested as the ruins themselves. Not to mention that we must pass under the shadow of the Hand of Gul'dan, the massive fel volcano in the center of the valley.

As always, I am nervous, but there is no time for brooding on my worries right now. I must go.

 _..._

 _June 18th, year 25._

It has taken us ten days to reach the ruins and I have had no time to write a single word the entire way. We have marched almost non-stop for over a week to reach this place, facing much heavier resistance than expected along the way. A dangerous eruption from the volcano also forced us further south than we intended and we suffered heavy losses when we were caught off guard by a Netherdrake. Thankfully, we recieved aid from Prince Kael'thas's troops in Eclipse Point. I think they might have been the only reason we were able to continue.

We have an ambush planned to take place in only a couple of hours and for now we are taking just a short break to prepare. I worry for my friends. There are many of us and in all the chaos, I haven't seen some of them in days. Nerath for one… But I know that those too injured to go on were taken back with the prince's troops to Eclipse Point. Perhaps he is there? Or he may just be in a different part of the ridge we're hiding upon. We are spread out quite a bit and it is absolutely imperative that no one moves from their positions, so there is no way to know. If anyone steps just a foot out of line we could be spotted and shot down by fel cannons.

For now, I will just have to worry and wait.

 _..._

 _June 20th, year 25._

The mission was a success, the ruins now known as Illidari Point are ours. It took us only an hour to take complete control of the ruins, snatching it away from the demons in just moments. I cannot believe how well it went after so much strife along the way, but it only goes to show that perseverance is truly the key to success.

We fought and we won and over the last two days we've turned the Legion's own fel cannons against them and repaired their shields to better defend ourselves. Tomorrow, the other trainees and I will start the journey to return to the temple with our teachers to report our success to Lord Illidan. After that we will resume our regular training, but Kayn said that we may be given other missions in the near future. I look forward to them.

I have other exciting news. I found Nerath and he is well, better than well, actually. He will be the first Sin'dorei among our wave of trainees to complete his training. When we return to the temple, Lord Illidan will give him the details of his final test and then he will undergo the transformation.

We celebrated this news yesterday after we cleared away the ash of the demonic corpses with elven wine and reminisced about home. Selmaen told a touching story about his younger brother who perished during the invasion and afterwards everyone shared their own tales. Nerath shared a few of his adventures as a Farstrider, including a rather humorous one about rescuing one his comrades from a village of Amani trolls where he was being forced into marriage with the daughter of a chieftain since she was apparently so demanding and pushy that none of their men wanted to marry her. Merhen told a rather embarrassing story about Lero from their childhood. Jaelad shared stories from the human capital in Lordaeron where he and Tyvonia visited her brother who worked there training young mages.

When it came to my turn to share, I told everyone of the time I became lost after "running away" when I was angry with my father as a little girl. I ended up a ways away from home and became very frightened after I heard rustling in the bushes, so I climbed a tree to hide but got stuck and too scared to come down. Little did I know, but Father had followed me the entire way to keep an eye on me and see where this would go. After I was stuck, he emerged from the bushes and revealed himself to be the cause of the rustling. In tears, I told him I was sorry and he climbed the white oak to get me down himself… What a time.

After the stories we were all very quiet for a while, happy for Nerath but filled with nostalgia. I am one of the lucky ones. Nerath lost his entire family, Lero and Merhen are the last surviving members of theirs, and Tyvonia and Jaelad have only her brother who escaped with Jaina Proudmoore to Kalimdor. Though our village was slaughtered and I lost many friends, I never lost my true family. Both of my parents are alive in Silvermoon. I had no other close family, just a few distant cousins who I had only met briefly. My pain is not the same as those around me. However, knowing that I may probably never go home again truly hurts. My parents were both very against my decision and in coming here I have given up what is left of my homeland and my family.

When I think of them, that is the only time I ever question my choice. I cannot help but wonder if I am a fool in coming here and giving them up after losing everything else, but in the end I know that there was really no other choice. It was either fade away and die or come here and help us all live, be weak or be strong. I chose strength, I chose a future. I just hope that in the end it will still be worth it.

 _..._

 _July 2nd, year 25._

It is over. It is done. I have lost everything.

Where do I start with this? How does one begin to tell the tale of how they lost their leg? What words can describe such a feeling of failure, of knowing that everything has been for nothing?

I cannot write about this now, not yet. It is too much to bear. Writing these words is as awful as the empty space where my leg should be.

Curse this place. Curse everything!

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The man stared into nothing for a long time after reading that entry. Everything around him was still and grey, muted beneath the sickly, overcast skies. There was no wind and few people about on the streets this afternoon. He was frozen to his chair, distraught but unmoving, silenced.

So this had been the beginning of the end for her. He reread those last lines a few times and noticed the little tear stains on the paper that smudged the edges of the last sentence. _Curse everything!_ She'd written. Indeed, he thought, curse everything.


	4. Chapter Three

**Hello everyone. I'm having a pretty good time writing this, which is rather refreshing in comparison to how much I tend to stress over some of my other stories. This chapter is a bit longer than the others, particularly at the end with the thoughts of the man. Also, it's awesome to see that people like this little story so much so far.**

 **I hope you enjoy as always. I own nothing but my own characters.**

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 **Reviews:**

 **HeraldSaysNO: I'm glad you think so! I try to do things that arent overdone.**

 **Ihsan997: Hahaha! You indeed are at my mercy! And no, he didn't stop with that entry lol, he's having a bit of a problem stopping.**

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 _July 4th, year 25._

The story is deceptively short for such a life altering event.

We were returning to the temple, five days into the journey and nearly there. We hadn't faced nearly as many challenges on the return trip. It was sometime in the late evening and we were only a few hours from the temple gates when we were ambushed by a very small force of demons. Just a few felguards and a couple of succubi, less than ten in total. We finished them off easily. Most of us thought that perhaps they had been part of a patrol, but Kayn was convinced that there was something devious afoot. He was right.

Out of nowhere we were beset by a swarm of imps and infernals. They poured from the surrounding area and swamped us in a matter of seconds. I remember the ground shaking so badly from the infernals smashing into the earth that it was difficult to stand. Many of our trainers took to the skies to battle the demons from above and it was once again Kayn who found the source of the lesser demons. A Dreadlord was summoning them from the air, a very powerful one.

Immediately, our trainers flew up to battle him and ordered us to handle the demons on the ground. Distracted by the Illidari, the Dreadlord was unable to summon any more imps or infernals and we steadily began to gain the upper hand- or so we thought. All I remember then was someone shouting "Eredar!" and something sinking its fangs into my left leg and hitting my head on the ground as it dragged me away.

Since I awoke two days ago, Jaelad has filled me in on what happened after I fell unconscious. Apparently a group of Eredar warlocks had hidden themselves away with invisibility. Once we were focused on the Nathrezim in the sky and the lesser demons surrounding us, they pounced with the aid of their own summoned felhunters. Because we were all elves they had the immediate advantage of our lifeforce being centered around our mana. The felhunters tore into those of us on the ground and ripped many of us to shreds, including me. That was what had happened to my leg, it had been bitten very badly by a felhunter who proceeded to drain me of my mana and continue to mangle my leg as it dragged me away. Many others met a similar fate. Of the nearly thirty trainees on the ground, twelve died on the battlefield and another four died from their wounds afterwards. I am extremely lucky to be alive, I am told.

Overwhelmed by the Eredar, the our trainers in the sky only barely managed to dispatch the Nathrezim before ordering the rest to run. Many of the injured had to be left behind lest everyone else die with them, but it was Nerath who refused to leave me there. I owe my life to him.

I slipped in and out of consciousness as we fled to the temple with those who were left, but I remember none of it. After we arrived, my leg was amputated because it was literally nothing but crushed bone and ripped flesh that was only a burden to my dying body. It had to be cut off only a few inches below my pelvis. I spent the next week in a coma.

I cannot help but disagree with the idea that I am lucky to be here, for now I am useless once again. I was so close to becoming strong, I had a purpose, a goal! All of that is erased now, gone with my leg. Even if my depleted, poisoned mana will eventually regenerate, everything I've worked for is gone forever. Without my leg I cannot fight, cannot even stand without the aid of another. I have no aptitude for spellcasting or healing and the Light, even stolen from the Naaru, does not bless me as it does Anriem or Tyvonia.

Everything is lost.

 _..._

 _July 5th, year 25_.

It's hard to keep my mind off of what happened. I can hardly do anything without the aid of someone else besides sit here in my cot. Thankfully my friends have been at my side as often as possible, keeping me company and offering me what comfort they can. Anriem visits more often than the others because he is stationed primarily within the temple, guarding the halls and training for a position as a part of main security. He hasn't yet lost his warmth, something I am extremely thankful for, and comes to me with smiles and laughter. I greatly appreciate his presence.

I missed Nerath's transformation. He came to see me yesterday just after I put my journal away and at first I hardly recognized him. I almost mistook him for Kayn with his dark hair and the huge horns he now sports, but unlike Kayn his skin is reddish and covered in scales that form ridges over his face and shoulders. His tattoos are a stunning teal in color They curl around his shoulders and over his chest and stomach intricately, fraying and curling on the edges like thorny vines. They are beautiful and I mourn the tattoos that I will now never have.

I thanked him for saving me, of course, but I'm afraid that he saw through to the bitterness I cannot help but feel. It is hard to look at him anymore and see the blindfold and the horns and the tattoos, all the marks of his success and strength, knowing that I will _never_ reach those goals.

Nerath told me that soon he and the others will be off on another mission. It boils my blood that I cannot go with them. I itch to run and feel the rush of training, I long to behead demons in retribution for what they've done to me, but I can do nothing but sit and watch as everyone else's lives continue on while mine is perpetually disrupted. The worst part is that it hasn't sunk in for the others yet even though they've had even more time than I to absorb it. They don't seem to see what I do, they don't seem able to fathom the finality of my wound. It breaks me.

 _..._

 _July 7th, year 25._

Everyone has left for the mission. Even Tyviona and Anriem are gone. This mission is of as much importance as the last, maybe more, for it seems as though half the temple has gone.I was not as alone as I expected to be, however, I had a very unexpected visitor.

Lord Illidan himself came into the barracks just to see me. Me of all people, a lowly ex-trainee, a failure who lost in battle. He thanked me for my service and expressed sorrow for the loss of my leg. It was all very strange, he had never directly spoken to me before, only having addressed the group as a whole in the past times I'd heard him speak. He was surprisingly sincere. As always, I was dwarfed by his presence, not just in size but in the very energy and power he exudes. It steals my breath, especially as my addiction rubs me raw while I sit still. I tried my hardest to seem strong and capable, as a soldier should be, but I know he saw through my false confidence.

I waited for him to tell me that I was retired from service due to my injuries and permanent disability- the words I dread most- but he never did. I don't know why, I cannot serve him any longer. I am not fit to be an Illidari and cannot undergo the transformation or fight for him. I am mostly useless, a burden really, but he never gave me any indication that he felt that way at all. I was surprised by the softness of him, especially in comparison to the times I had seen him in the past. He was always commanding and dangerous, and even for all the power that practically seeps from him even as he isn't training us or preparing to fight, something today was different.

Perhaps this was just his way of saying goodbye to one of his soldiers. Perhaps he never officially released me from service as a kindness, allowing me to keep the last shreds of my dreams and aspirations. I suppose I will never know his reasons, though, for even despite the slightly different light in which I saw him today, he was still guarded and composed. He is like an impenetrable wall as far as emotion goes. He is charismatic when it suits him, charming when he needs to be, and I suppose that goes for what he displayed today too. He was soft because he felt he needed to be and that is all there is to it.

Nonetheless, I appreciated it. Even though I failed, he still acknowledged me as his soldier-in-training. I thank him for offering me something of stability, even if my future is still uncertain. I am not completely forgotten, at least for now.

* * *

He closed the book for the evening and placed it beneath his pillow. He would read more later tonight while his wife and granddaughter slept and his mind raced with wonder and anxiety. The question of _what came next, what was written on the next page, what was the next entry about_ hindered his every day activities for as long as the book was in the pockets of his robes. He had to put it down before it consumed him. He was just barely into it, but it ruled his thoughts. Between the baby and the book he was certain he might go crazy.

As he poured himself a cup of peacebloom tea he thought to himself, _I am far too old for this…_ and rubbed the space behind his ears where a migraine was forming. It felt like the third war all over again even though he was surrounded by relative peace. Turmoil was something that didn't sit well with him and he could practically feel the grey hairs sprouting in his auburn mane, freshly cut to just above his shoulders a signature of his grief.

He glanced across the table to his wife whose hair was also cut to such a length and watched her sip from her own tea. The baby was napping upstairs and the house was still and nearly silent save for the quiet swish of an enchanted broom in the hall.

"I feel like I've gone back in time," She said when she noticed him looking at her, "I've been brought back to the days just after Ahrani was born, back at the little house on the coast where we tried to get away from the nosy habits of everyone in Goldenmist. We just wanted a little peace with our baby…"

She sighed, "What a time…" and the man thought of when he read that same line in the journal and couldn't help but stare at his wife as she continued to sip on her tea, noticing all the little similarities between her and their daughter. He wondered if their granddaughter would also inherit these features and habits from her, if she would get anything from him, too. He was surprised by the tears that were suddenly surfacing and hid his face behind his cup of tea.

His wife was right, it was as if they'd gone back in time, but now there was an entirely new set of problems and emotions involved and entirely baby as well. Before he could stop himself he blurted out, "Lets go to the coast."

His wife looked up from her own tea again, excitement and confusion battling for dominance on her face. "What?"

"The coast," he said, choking on his words and unsure of what to do now that he'd put the idea out there, "We should go. It's spring and the weather is nice and I need to get out of here." The last part was true, but the rest he really wasn't sure about. There wasn't any backing out now, though.

His wife smiled. "I think that's a lovely idea, though it's unfortunate that the old villa is destroyed. We'll have to rent a different one, maybe on the mainland across the channel from Sunstrider Isle, it's safer and not too far away."

He nodded stiffly. Yes, there was no backing out now. He felt his migraine worsen by a rather considerable margin.


	5. Chapter Four

**I'm back again. Our good computer broke in march, so now I'm here with the computer from 2008 that doesn't like anyone or anything. It especially doesn't like me. As I write this, it's opening and closing folders that I forgot I tried to open (and gave up on) 3 hours ago. Playing WoW has been a _special treat_ (I've been trapped on Argus for four days with Jaerim and every time I try to portal to Dalaran it disconnects me RIP), but somehow runs better than most web-pages on this computer? God forbid I open steam.**

 **Anyway, I'm here now and hopefully I can get things going again now that I'm not restricted to my (also slightly broken) phone for most internet-related things. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I own only my OCs, etc.**

* * *

 **Reviews:**

 **Ihsan997: He could definitely use a mental break... And a break from the book, but don't worry, he'll be reading it again soon.**

* * *

 _July 8th, year 25._

It is morning. I slept terribly last night and found myself awake with only the night shift guards for company, but the fel orcs mostly ignore me and none of the blood knights know me. I miss my friends. I miss Anriem. I miss being able to walk, to slay demons, to train. I even miss the grey and green sky of Shadowmoon. I am stuck here in the barracks on my cot, I have been for days and days now. I have only left to use the latrine with the help of attendants who carry me there.

I spent most of last night mourning things. My leg, the future I had planned for myself, my past, the comradery that is forever tarnished by what has happened. I am also afraid. What happens to me now that I can no longer fight? Lord Illidan never released me from service, but neither did he give me directions as to what to do now. What next?

Everything has changed, but no one seems to see that. Yes, Illidan acknowledged me and my friends are sorrowful, but all around me life continues on and I remain in limbo. People pass by and their looks of pity are beginning to fade to indifference and I haven't even been awake for a full week yet. I cannot help but feel as though I'm fading.

Maybe I'm just tired.

 _..._

 _July 9th, year 25_.

Nothing happened yesterday. I slept for half the day and awoke for dinner but that was all. After that I just laid there and stared. I haven't felt such gloom since the Scourge swept through. In the weeks afterwards there were only gloom and fear, nothing else. What I feel now is eerily similar.

At least I was able to sleep through the night and admittedly I feel better than I did yesterday, but still… off. Sadness and anxiousness edge their way along my thoughts and plague the moments when I am alone. I am trying to keep hope in my heart, but it's hard when you've nothing left to pin your hopes on. For now I wait for my friends to return and try to focus on them. Waiting is all I seem to do these days.

 _..._

 _July 10th, year 25_.

Last night a group of demon hunters returned to the temple. I had only seen the members of this branch in passing and a few times during training, but had never spoken to them. They are often sent away on smaller, quieter missions, though sometimes they join the main force. At least, that is what Thaonaar tells me.

Thaonaar is my newest acquaintance, one of the higher ranking members of that group, and the first person to truly speak to me in nearly three days. He is Kaldorei, one of the few I've had any real conversations with so far. Most of the higher ranking Kaldorei ignore the trainees and most of the trainees are Sin'dorei. Almost all of the Kaldorei among the Illidari had come before us and though we fight for the same cause, the tension between our two races has never completely disappeared. It was refreshing to have casual conversations with one of them at last, something not entirely pertaining to training and the slaying of demons.

He is certainly interesting. Witty and sarcastic with an intelligence that reminds me of a boy from my village who left to study as an apprentice under a powerful sorcerer in Silvermoon. When he told me that he was once a druid, it caught me off guard. I had thought that perhaps he was one of the highborne that had hidden themselves away from the rest of the Kaldorei. He gives off that sorcerer's vibe very much, but no, he was a druid from the mountains of Ashenvale, a place I have only ever heard of in stories. To finally meet and have a conversation with someone from there was like a dream to the curious part of me, my younger self shining through.

I am amazed by his patience. He answered all of my questions about his homeland without ever once seeming annoyed with me. It was nice not to feel like a burden with him and not to be looked at with eyes full of pity. He came and simply talked to me, no wishing me a speedy recovery, no 'I'm sorry for what happened to you,' just an introduction and a pleasant conversation, one that unfortunately ended too soon as he was called away.

He did promise to visit me later, though, and I cannot match his patience in the slightest as I wait for him.

 _..._

 _July 11th, year 25._

They're finally back! I awoke to Anriem's smiling face as he told me excitedly that the mission was a success and that Merhen and Lero have been deemed ready for their personal test and transformation, which they requested to undergo together. I am happy for them, as bittersweet as everything is now, I am. I am excited, too, at the idea of watching my friends grow in their success and become fully fledged demon hunters, having missed Nerath's ceremony.

After bringing me the news, he checked over my wound and told me that it has finally entirely healed. Ah, but it hasn't, has it? The leg is still missing and it will never _truly_ be healed again. Some cruel part of me wanted to say this to him, to watch his face fall and make him feel what I felt. Some awful, horrible part of me…

I am ashamed of my thoughts, of my weakness and bitterness, of my urge to hurt my own friend's heart. But I held my tongue and just smiled at him the way he smiles at me, bright as I could to mask the dark thoughts I'd just had. I wonder if he saw through it in the same way Lord Illidan did, if I'm surrounded by men with too much intuition for their own good, because even though I smiled at him, he held me close and told me that he missed me. There was a sadness to him that I had never seen before, that marred his brightness and warmth, that I hope to never see in him again. It was a reminder that I am not the only one who suffers here, that everyone in the temple, every last one of us, has known darkness in ways no one should ever have to.

For the first time in in days I have felt something close to determination. I have found something of a new cause, a new purpose. I want to ease the pain and sorrow of my comrades as much as I can. If I cannot fight in battle alongside them as I did before, then I will aid them in the small, unseen battles within us all where instead of the Legion, we fight our personal demons. I will do whatever I can for them, and maybe if I can help them, then I can help myself.

* * *

This time, he placed the book in his desk drawer, ready for him when he returned. He would not be bringing the journal with him to the shore. He couldn't, for its pages consumed him. His life now revolved around the little, black book. He couldn't sleep because of it, couldn't eat, couldn't face reality. His mind was always lost within its pages and the words scrawled over them in neat, achingly familiar handwriting. He was caged by it, imprisoned by it, nearly possessed with the need to read it if it was anywhere near him. He was missing out on his own life as he vigorously reviewed the life of his daughter. He lived vicariously through her journal and she through him as he read it. He had to get away for awhile.

He turned to gather his bags and had to grit his teeth so hard his gums bled just to stop himself from turning around. _No,_ he scolded himself, _you need time away_.

Somehow, he was able to force himself from the room and hurried to meet his wife by their carriage. She held their granddaughter in her arms, the baby still unnamed. Again he stopped to observe his wife, watching her brush the wispy blue-black hair away from the baby's gold eyes. How many times had he seen her this way with Ahrani? How many times had he done that himself? Again he had to stop himself from turning around, running back to his room and bringing the book. Again he scolded himself. Again he forced himself forward and placed his bags beside the others.

"Are you ready?" His own voice was foreign to him as he addressed the two girls he loved so dearly. He sounded far too put together for how haggard he felt inwardly. He was falling apart, but forced himself together, like a child haphazardly gluing a priceless vase back together after having shattered it.

He focused on his wife's smiling face, on the skin beneath her eyes and the way it crinkled as she grinned at the baby and then at him. "More than ready," she said excitedly, "I can hardly wait to get away from this place for a while." Her face fell a little at those last words, betraying the grief he knew she still felt. He was caught off guard when she suddenly placed the baby in his arms, having been so caught up in watching her. "Hold her for a moment, please. I need to get something."

He watched her dart back inside the house and once more resisted the urge to run in there himself for the journal. He brought his gaze down to the infant in his arms instead and pulled her closer. Guilt bit at him as he watched her little hands open and close, tiny fingers wiggling. He had hardly held her since they brought her home, the journal consumed him so. _This is why you're leaving it behind,_ he reminded himself, _she needs this,_ you _need this._

He ran his fingers through the dark hair atop her head and stroked a thumb over her cheek, smiling faintly as she turned her face into his hand and tried to suck at his palm. Gods, he had never imagined himself doing this again. Ahrani had never expressed a desire to marry and have a family, she had been too young to be thinking about such things when the invasion had swept through, barely fourty. It wasn't that he thought she would _never_ have a family. Simply that she'd been so young.

He remembered her having crises over what to do with her life, she'd been so uncertain. She'd always been social, but never overly so, and had hardly left Goldenmist while growing up. She was caring and determined, but so, _so_ young. His heart clenched as he remembered her not-so-distant childhood. Only a few decades ago he'd been holding her the same way he held his granddaughter now. With a sigh he pushed the memories from his thoughts, his tears could wait.

His wife appeared from the house, shutting and locking the door behind her. In her hands she held a picture of their family, a magically painted portrait done years ago. "I want her to come with us," she said quietly, and the thickness of her voice revealed to him that she'd been crying, "even if it's only in spirit. I want her to know that- that…"

He pulled her close, the baby sandwiched between them just like that morning in Shattrath. "Shh… You don't want to give the neighbors something to gossip about do you?" He half teased, baby in one arm, his free hand stroking through her short hair.

"To fel with the neighbors," she whispered back and looked up at him with a wobbly smile, "let's get out of here."


End file.
